House of Evidence (11 page)

“And this is where the drawings are kept,” Matthías said, pointing to a three-foot-high cabinet with wide, shallow drawers, standing on an eight-inch-high plinth to make it a comfortable level to work at. Matthías opened a drawer labeled “Birkihlíd and other houses” and took out a large drawing, placing it on top of the cabinet. “This is a ground plan of the main floor of the house. There are also drawings of the other floors with all the elevations.”

“We might perhaps borrow them at a later date to copy them. It could be useful for the investigation to have an overview like this,” Halldór suggested. “Now let’s see the basement.”

The basement was reached by a staircase from the kitchen, leading to a short corridor, which, unlike that in the upper floor, was dark, cold, and dirty. Since the house was built on a slope, the basement extended only under the front half of the home.

“Jacob Junior had completely given up trying to keep the basement clean,” Matthías said. “Dear old Sveinborg couldn’t manage any more than what she did upstairs.”

He opened the door into a small bathroom that stunk of sewage.

“The trap has dried up; it is never used and thus the unpleasant smell,” he said, flushing the toilet before shutting the door again. “It would have been a really good idea to make a cozy apartment here for Sveinborg, but nothing was allowed to be changed, and she was supposedly only working half a day anyway.”

Along the corridor were two small rooms, mainly empty and smelling of damp.

“These were staff living quarters in earlier days; they were a bit more comfortable then,” Matthías said, apologetically.

At the end of the corridor was the entrance to a large laundry room, where there were big wooden tubs, drying racks and clotheslines, and a large open fireplace.

“Jacob Senior had this fireplace bricked up a little while before he died. He probably wanted to modernize the laundry room. On the other hand, Jacob Junior had it opened up again after his mother died, using it to store some old housekeeping tools he had collected. The idea was to show what laundry facilities were like in an affluent home at the turn of the century.”

At the far end of the laundry room, a door led to the boiler room. “This is where the coal was shoveled in,” Matthías said, pointing to a hatch covering an opening on the outside wall next to a coal store containing a few remnants of fuel. The majority of the space was dominated by a massive old boiler. “The house was connected to the hot-water main in 1943, but there is still some coal here, even so.”

They returned to the corridor through the laundry room. There was yet another door into an empty larder, beyond which was a room that Matthías said was a wine cellar.

“My father was a very moderate user of alcohol, but he enjoyed being a generous host. Before prohibition took effect in 1915, he filled this room with bottles of wine, which lasted throughout the prohibition years. Now it is a very meager cellar.”

The main floor, while chilly, felt rather pleasant to Halldór after their visit to the basement.

“We have finished here for today, sir,” Halldór said, “but we might need to talk a bit more to you later.”

Matthías nodded, put on his overcoat and hat, and Halldór escorted him out, asking an officer to drive the gentleman home.

Diary III

February 23, 1915. Life continues as usual here in Berlin in spite of the war. There is, however, much unemployment, and business is generally stagnant. At college the students do their best to concentrate on their studies…Military processions march through the streets to the beat of drums. They are all dressed in gray uniforms with either beribboned caps or spiked helmets…

April 25, 1915. The final examinations are imminent, but the war eclipses everything. My college friends intend military service after graduation. Some are eager, others anxious. What is certain is that there will be a multitude of railroad projects because of the war. They are now attaching huge cannons on to railroad wagons…

May 8, 1915. Newspapers here in Berlin report that a German submarine U-20 sunk the giant ocean liner
Lusitania
south of Ireland yesterday. Kapitän Schwieger has received much praise for this act here in Germany. The German Ambassador in the United States had warned tourists against taking passage with the ship. I doubt whether this will prove to have been a judicious move for the Germans in
their conduct of the war…The newspapers have not reported this, but rumor is flying round here in college that several hundred passengers died on the
Lusitania
, including many Americans. It is said that women and children were among those who perished…

May 12, 1915. The woman with whom I take meals wishes fervently for peace, as supplies are continually dwindling. Now you may no longer serve meat on Tuesdays and Fridays. Occasionally there is fish instead and then nobody notices it, but on some meatless days, the shops have no fish either. The cabbage does not taste of anything, and the soups are insubstantial. The bread is good, but the worst thing is when there is no butter or margarine available. Then we have jam or honey on our bread…

June 4, 1915. The final exams are over. Celebrations here are muted because of the war. I have said good-bye to those professors and college friends I was able to get hold of. I am going to haste my way to Denmark. Probably best to go overland through Jutland…

E
rlendur telephoned Reverend Ingimar. The pastor had been audibly shocked by the news of his friend’s death, but seemed to recover enough for Erlendur to ask if he could come by later that day. The reverend agreed and said he’d let their other friends know what had happened. Then Erlendur spoke to Jacob’s sister Kirsten in Akureyri, who, after a short silence, said she would come south to Reykjavik at the first available opportunity.

Erlendur was frequently given the task of bringing bad news to relatives. He had a way of doing it that was both considerate and calming, which surprised those who didn’t know him well. Erlendur had a reputation as something of a joker, and while he liked to laugh and tease, he was also quick to sense when it was appropriate to be serious.

He would be working on the case for the rest of this day and the following one, and then heading off on holiday. He was looking forward to the trip, but was now feeling a bit apprehensive about being away from the investigation. He had a feeling he would be needed over the next few days. Halldór always relied on having someone to discuss things with, and that was usually him. There would be difficult decisions to make in this case, and Halldór didn’t really trust his colleagues: Egill was not good at giving
appropriate advice, Jóhann never took a stand on anything, and Marteinn was new to the job. That left only Hrefna, but Halldór was not in the habit of turning to her.

Reverend Ingimar was tall and slim, though slightly stooped; he had dark hair and graying sideburns.

“It is incomprehensible how something like this can happen,” he said, inviting Erlendur into his home. “Here you are, this is my office, please take a seat. My wife will bring us coffee in a minute.”

They sat down, and Erlendur got out his notebook and a pen. “I understand that you and the late Jacob Kieler were good friends.”

“Yes, we met in the first year of high school and immediately became good companions,” Ingimar replied.

“So perhaps you can tell me a bit about him, what sort of a person he was?”

“Yes,” the pastor cleared his throat, “I was indeed thinking back to our school years when you arrived. I’m rather expecting the family to come to me about the funeral, and I shall begin working on the eulogy presently.”

He leafed through some papers on the desk in front of him.

“Jacob Junior was the son of Jacob Kieler, engineer, and his wife, Elizabeth. The Kieler name stems from Jacob Junior’s great-grandfather, who emigrated from Denmark to Iceland in the middle part of the last century. His name was Jacob as well. His son, Jacob Junior’s grandfather, was called Alfred. They were both killed in accidents while still full of life; Jacob the elder fell off a horse, whereas Alfred died in a car accident many years later.”

Reverend Ingimar was interrupted by his wife, a pale, thin woman, bearing a tray of coffee. She had overheard this last
sentence and said portentously, “The Kieler males do not perish from old age. The legend does not lie.”

The pastor glared at his wife but said nothing.

“What legend would that be?” Erlendur asked.

“There was once a loathsome and unchristian calumny told about the Kieler family,” replied the pastor. “It will not be repeated in this house, and I had hoped that it had been forgotten,” he added, directing these words toward his wife.

As soon as she had put out their cups and poured the coffee, his wife left the room, allowing the pastor to continue. “Merchant Jacob Kieler made his money in trade during the second half of the last century, and his son, Alfred, took over when his father died. He built Birkihlíd in 1910. He had two sons, Jacob the engineer and Matthías the musician.” The pastor consulted his notes. “There was a bit of an age gap between the brothers. Jacob Senior was born in 1890 and Matthías in 1904. Jacob went abroad to study in 1910, first to Denmark and then to Germany, where he took a course in railway engineering in Berlin. After completing his studies, he worked for a while in the United States. He was married in the summer of 1919, and he and his wife moved back to Iceland in 1920.”

The pastor paused again to check his papers.

“Jacob Senior worked on a variety of engineering projects over the years that followed. His main interest was, of course, railways, and he devoted a great deal of his time and his own resources to traveling round the country to survey routes for the railroad, and designing station facilities and bridges. But these projects never came to anything.”

Reverend Ingimar took a sip of his coffee, crunching a lump of sugar between his teeth before continuing. “Well, the war began and the British army occupied the country.
Naturally Jacob Senior acquired an important role then. His knowledge of English and his education made him a vital link between the occupying forces and the locals, and construction works for the military were, to a great extent, under his supervision. He very much came into his own, and was highly regarded by everyone.”

The pastor was quiet for a while, and when he continued his tone of voice had changed. “It was in the summer of 1945 that the terrible tragedy occurred. I assume you have familiarized yourselves with the case, which naturally affected the family greatly. Mrs. Elizabeth had put down roots here, and she continued to live at Birkihlíd, but she felt the loss sorely. It was very hard for Jacob Junior to lose his father and witness his mother’s grief. He tried to be a good son in every way, and was her support and her rock until the day she died. Mrs. Elizabeth died two years ago, a venerable old lady. I conducted the funeral at the cathedral, and some of her relatives came over from England to attend; I had to deliver the address in English, of course…”

“What can you tell me about Jacob Junior?”

“Yes, Jacob Junior. Well, we met at high school. He was quiet and aloof, and did not have much in common with many of our classmates. I myself came from out of town, from Snæfellsnes, where my father was a pastor. I was a shy youth and unsophisticated, and so tried to pick a friend who was not particularly conspicuous. During my two last years at school, the Kielers allowed me to live in a room in the basement of Birkihlíd. For board, however, I used to go to an aunt of mine who lived in Vesturgata, a very nice woman who took in people for meals, mainly students. She and my father were cousins—”

Erlendur interrupted him. “What about Jacob Junior, what did he study?”

“Well…Mrs. Elizabeth always kept in good contact with her relatives in Leicester and frequently visited them in the summer. Jacob Junior always accompanied her, and when the time came for him to go to university, the Chatfield family helped him get into Cambridge, where he studied history and philosophy. During our high school years, I had thought he would study theology with me at the university here in Iceland, but that’s not the way it turned out. I became a theologian and the following year I was ordained to the north to—”

“What did Jacob Junior do after completing his studies?” Erlendur asked, interrupting him again.

“When he returned home he was appointed history teacher at our old school, but unfortunately teaching did not suit him and he left after the first term.”

“Isn’t it rather unusual,” Erlendur asked, “for teachers to leave in the middle of the school year?”

Reverend Ingimar was quiet for a while before continuing. “As I said, teaching did not suit him; he did not manage to connect with the students, and there were some disciplinary issues. He was extremely upset about this, and in the end had a bit of a nervous breakdown. He was in the hospital for a while, but his mother nursed him back to health and he recovered very well in the end. After completing his university degree, he had planned to write a doctoral thesis on the adoption of Christianity in Iceland and the adaptation of heathen philosophy to Christian society. I think he sought financial support from his mother’s family in order to focus on these studies, but was declined. They were practical folk who were not very impressed with his choice of study. Then he took a job at the bank, initially for the short term only, but he settled there.”

The pastor stopped, and seemed to be waiting for the next question.

“What did he do apart from this?” Erlendur asked.

“He attended to his hobbies. He read history and, from time to time, wrote articles for various periodicals. He was very meticulous, and as a result probably undertook fewer things than he would otherwise have done. Always when he completed a project, he felt he could have done better.”

He took another sip of coffee before continuing. “He was also very fond of Birkihlíd and was extremely diligent in maintaining both house and garden.”

“Who were his friends?”

“He was not gregarious by nature, and after the setback at the school, he became very isolated for a while. But he always took part in the fraternity’s activities.”

“The fraternity?”

“Yes, when we were at high school, we and some other friends founded a fraternity named Gethsemane, whose objectives were Bible readings, prayers, and fellowship, besides which we went on outings together. It has, of course, always been within the framework of the established church. I have been the fraternity’s chairman for twenty years, and Jacob became treasurer seven years ago when the previous treasurer fell ill. The operations of the fraternity have always been blessed with success. One of the older brothers who passed away without offspring bequeathed his estate to the fraternity, and we have been fortunate in our investments ever since. Of course, some money is donated to charity each year, but we have amassed considerable capital, some of which we now plan to use to add an extension to our meetinghouse. The membership may remain unchanged, but it will be beneficial to have more space. We have been freeing up assets recently in order to get started.”

“Whom did Jacob Junior mainly associate with?” Erlendur asked.

“He and I always kept in good touch; we have, for instance, continued to play chess together once a week, regularly. Our companions on these chess evenings were my brother Steindór and Sveinbjörn, a primary-school teacher.”

“Did Jacob have any enemies?”

The pastor smiled faintly and shook his head.

“No, my friend Jacob had no enemies. I think that most people will at some time, intentionally or unintentionally, do something to offend others, and so generate enmity. But Jacob was someone who tried to be kind to everybody he met. He never engaged in any kind of business activities, he did not push to get promoted at the bank, and on the whole, he never competed with a soul. I even think that he was happiest when we, his chess companions, checkmated him.”

Reverend Ingimar smiled at the thought, but immediately grew solemn again.

“Were any valuables kept at Birkihlíd?”

“No, definitely not. Contrary to what many people think, Jacob and his mother were not wealthy. I understand that Jacob Senior had taken out a life insurance policy that provided a reasonable living for Mrs. Elizabeth, but they did not accumulate any wealth. There are, of course, various objects in the house that are quite valuable, but hardly enough for dishonest people to want to try to acquire them, never mind kill for them. Their value lay above all in the memories the family associated with them, and in their historical worth.”

“Did Jacob’s circumstances alter when his mother died?”

“Yes, everything to do with maintaining the home at Birkihlíd changed, of course. The estate had to be divided between the heirs, forcing them to sell the house. I do, actually, know that Jacob Junior was having talks with the municipal authorities
about the city buying the house and its contents to turn it into a museum—it is, of course, a unique record of what a well-to-do family home in the early part of the century was like.”

“Do you know who will inherit Jacob’s share?” Erlendur inquired.

“I believe that his sister Kirsten is the legal heir, though I am sure he will have bequeathed a sum of money to the fraternity.”

“Were you and Jacob Junior close friends?”

“Yes, of course,” replied the pastor. “Naturally, we discussed our hopes and feelings more when we were younger, but I always had my friend’s full confidence.”

“Did you notice any changes in Jacob’s behavior in recent weeks?”

“No.”

“Did you meet frequently…that is to say since the New Year?”

“We played chess last Friday.”

“Did anything unusual happen then?”

“No.”

“Did you not meet him after that?”

“No.”

Diary III

June 7, 1915. Have now crossed the border and am sitting in the train on my way to Copenhagen. I feel as if I am back home. I would never have believed that I would be so happy to hear Danish spoken. The German border guards were very strict. They examined my books thoroughly. Fortunately they were all in German, apart of course from my diaries,
which I was very relieved that they did not examine thoroughly. They were among my workbooks in my trunk…

June 8, 1915. I am going to stay here in Copenhagen for a few days, rest and decide what to do next…

June 10, 1915. I am thinking of going to England to visit Elizabeth. The crossing is dangerous, of course, yet I must not be afraid of undertaking this journey but once, when the sailors are doing it all the time. I read in a newspaper that 1,382 steamships sailed in and out of British seaports in one week and that 8 of these had been sunk. That is just over half of one percent. The Danish ships are, of course, neutral and they fly the Danish flag…